


Diary of a Dope Fiend: Excerpts from the Journal of Sherlock Holmes

by darlingmisslovette



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Book: The Sign of the Four, Cocaine, Drug Addict Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock, M/M, Sherlock Holmes and Drug Use, Sherlock's Diary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2013-08-12
Packaged: 2017-12-23 06:25:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/923065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlingmisslovette/pseuds/darlingmisslovette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sherlock is a drug addict and John doesn't like it. Based on the novel The Sign of the Four by Arthur Conan Doyle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Diary of a Dope Fiend: Excerpts from the Journal of Sherlock Holmes

**Author's Note:**

> This work was originally an English assignment that I got a little carried away with... Enjoy!

Diary of a Dope Fiend: Excerpts from the Journal of Sherlock Holmes

July 2, 1889  
After finding me earlier today with my cocaine-needle, Watson felt it necessary to lecture me on the health risks of such activities. It was almost as if he had forgotten that my mental capacity is so much greater than his; I could have given him a lecture far more comprehensive and accurate on the subject, having naturally conducted extensive research before indulging in the admittedly controversial hobby. My consistent use of a seven-per-cent solution prevents possible overdose, and I always clean and sterilize my hypodermic syringe thoroughly between uses. Yet my dear Watson acts as if I am any common street rat. I understand that he is merely concerned for my wellbeing, but his worry is completely unnecessary and irrational. If I needed someone to look after me I would still be living with Mother… or Mycroft. Or worse yet, I would be married. Wouldn't that be tiresome? She'd probably force me to eat all of my meals and get dressed every day whether I had a case or not! At least I can be thankful that Watson has the decency not to try and change my temperamental ways (that is, at least before the cocaine incident).  
I cannot dispute, however, that Watson is surely the truest friend I have encountered in my life thus far. Perhaps for his sake I may cut back on my usage between cases. Perhaps.

July 5, 1889  
Watson's lectures get shorter and less heated every time. I think if he continues at this rate he will eventually have no reaction at all, which would definitely be for the best. Of late he has taken to spending a portion of his free time at our front window, looking— no, gazing—down upon the street, anticipating which of the people below will be our future clients. Watson's observations are improving; he still manages to miss almost everything important, but he has undoubtedly come a long way since first we met. He is making an effort, although he seems to try his hardest not while we are investigating a case (when it would be most helpful) but rather while we are between cases and he notices I am bored. I suspect this to be an attempt (if a futile one) to distract me from my cocaine-bottle. I feel that this is a protest which I can tolerate; it is just as easy to wait until he is out to medicate myself, if it upsets him less.  
We have been without a good case for some time now. There were a few open-and-shut little commissions, which didn't even require our leaving the flat, and which surely won't even be deemed important enough for Watson to write up in his memoirs. Alas, I am certain we are due for a good murder-mystery any day now. Hopefully sooner than later; I resolved to cut back on my usage between cases, not obliterate it completely.

July 7, 1889  
Oh! the case has come at last! Not quite the murder-mystery I had hoped for, but certainly nothing to scoff at. A young Miss Mary Morstan (deemed "quite an attractive woman" by our dear Watson) has presented us with a most puzzling situation: after the mysterious disappearance of her father freshly home from military service some ten years ago, Miss Morstan has received on the same date each year an identical pearl of considerable value. On the day which she presented her case to us she had received a letter requiring her presence "at the third pillar from the left outside the Lyceum Theatre" that night at seven o'clock. If she wished she would be permitted to bring along two friends, so long as neither were police officers (this is where Watson and I will be needed). So far I have several possible theories, none of which I have collected enough data to label as "most probable."  
It is on this very evening that we will be accompanying Miss Morstan to the required address. I am fairly certain that once we meet her mysterious benefactor all the pieces will fall into place, but for now it provides a welcome stimulation for my overactive brain.

July 8, 1889  
The case of Miss Morstan (which Watson has taken to calling The Sign of Four, after some curious re-occurrences of the particular phrase) is proving to be quite complicated indeed! The lady, Watson, and I, upon arriving at the Lyceum Theatre, were driven to the home of a Mr. Thaddeus Sholto. Mr. Sholto explained to us the nature of his intentions, the meaning behind the curious pearls, as well as promising Miss Morstan a grand treasure which was rightfully hers. The short bald man then escorted us to the home of "Brother Bartholomew" (his twin), where the whereabouts of the treasure had just been discovered the previous day. That was where the night started to become a good deal more interesting: for, once inside the house of the brother, we discovered him dead inside his locked room (locked, of course, from the inside) with such a grotesque smile stretched and plastered upon his face that even I took a step backwards in surprise. Upon further observation of the late Bartholomew Sholto and his surroundings, I determined the cause of death to be a small poisoned dart (found in the man's neck) and the point of entry into the room to be first by the roof (and the hole in the ceiling, where the treasure had been removed the day before) and then by the window, by two separate parties. Presumably the leader of the two was the party which entered through the window: a poorly-educated, middle-aged man, missing his right leg (in its place will be found a wooden peg). His companion, a pygmy the size of a child, would have climbed up to the roof and through the ceiling, most likely killing the unsuspecting B. Sholto before the pygmy's master even knew the man was in the room. The small companion then would have lowered a rope down from the window, allowing Mr. Jonathan Small (as I discovered his name to be from further investigation) to enter the room and steal the treasure. After the business was done both parties would have exited in much the same manner which they came, the small companion locking the window from the inside before making his final exit once more through the roof. Fortunately for us, the small companion tramped through a puddle of creosote whilst making his retreat, and with the help of the best tracking dog in London (at least to my knowledge) we were able to trace their trail to the water's edge. Today I will have all of my irregulars out on the streets looking for them by the river's edge, as I have discovered that they have hired a rather particular-looking steam-launch by the name of the Aurora.  
I have almost all the facts of the case now; all that is left is to catch our culprits and the whole thing will be done with. Although, I fear this is not the last we will be seeing of Miss Morstan. Watson seems to have taken quite a liking to the woman, which I cannot say I wholeheartedly approve of. We shall see what comes of the matter, but if my deductions are correct, there will undoubtedly be an engagement in the near future.

July 9, 1889  
The case is resolved at last. We were able to catch the Aurora on the Thames before she could make her grand escape, and apprehended Mr. Jonathan Small. His small companion, Tonga, was shot and killed when he attempted to fire one of his poisoned darts at Watson and myself. Thankfully the dart was found safely buried in the wall of our own steam launch, having passed between us when Tonga's aim was jostled. Mr. Small resolved to tell us his story (which can be found in its entirety in the official police records), the essential message of which was that the treasure had been rightfully both his and Captain Morstan's (Miss Morstan's late father) and had been stolen by Major Sholto (the Sholto twins' father). Although, at least as he saw it, Mr. Small was simply reclaiming his property, he has committed several offenses for which he will be locked up.  
Both Miss Morstan and Watson were strangely overjoyed to find that the treasure had been scattered at the bottom of the Thames, for it meant that they were able to be together without boundaries of class (how sentimental…). Just this evening Watson has informed me that Miss Morstan has accepted his proposal of marriage, and that it will not be long before he leaves our Baker Street flat to start a home with his soon-to-be wife. I couldn't help but impart upon him my thoughts on marriage (I believe my exact words were: "Love is an emotional thing, and whatever is emotional is opposed to that true cold reason which I place above all things. I should never marry myself, lest I bias my judgment") which he simply laughed away, making some meaningless comment about how his "judgment would survive the ordeal." Regarding his new love interest, and the fact that the police had gotten all the credit for solving the case (as always), Watson asked what was left for me now that the case was over. "For me," I replied, "there still remains the cocaine-bottle."  
I didn't bother waiting until he had left to indulge myself.

**Author's Note:**

> Possibly to be continued (with more Johnlock, of course)


End file.
